Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series (5 page)

A man would have to be half-dead not to have felt that electricity. Standing here in the rain, it could have been deadly. Tom tore his focus away from Kelly’s eyes and his mind from the sensation of her fingertips. A man would have to be half-blind not to notice her. Not that she stood out from a crowd, but when you let yourself take a second look . . .

“You carry this inside,” he told Kelly. “I’ll bring the rest of the stuff in. You have more in the trunk, I assume?”

She nodded and turned back toward the open kitchen door, leaving him to wrestle with his thoughts. Not much wrestling took place, actually. He wasn’t looking to meet someone, not really. Right now things weren’t the best for him. It was all he could do to keep positive, and nobody wanted to be around a guy who slipped into Eeyore mode.

He focused on the mission at hand, getting Kelly’s car emptied and her stuff unloaded in the house. As far as what was wrong with it, he’d save that for later. She didn’t look like she was in a hurry to go anywhere anytime soon. She had three bags of shoes, plus another uncovered tote with what looked like art supplies. Then a container of books. By the time Tom emptied the trunk, the rain had slowed to a patter.

Once Tom entered the kitchen with the last load, he’d made quite a puddle on the tile floor. The water and mud stood out on the black and white. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kelly’s gaze traveled the room. “I assume there must be cleaning supplies somewhere.”

“They didn’t tell you anything?”

She shook her head. “Just that I had to keep the quilt on- site and that I was welcome to stay in the house for nothing. Other than that, no.”

“So you could drop everything and come here.”

“This was really my only option right now . . . times have been tough. And this seemed like the answer to my prayers.” Kelly shrugged out of her jacket, not quite as soggy as his. “Anyway, I’m here now.”

“Well, good for you.”

“Is that a little sarcasm I hear?”

“No, not at all. It’s a brave move. Do you have family around here?” he asked.

Kelly shook her head. “No. No family.” She appeared to study the mud on the floor. “Guess I should get that mud cleaned up.”

He nodded. “I should get back to the greenhouse. Our boss has more confidence in my gardening abilities than I do.”

“What do they grow here and why, if no one visits or lives here?”

“Rosebushes, for one thing. Over one hundred years old. And, I recently was notified they’re going to be not just maintaining the lawn, but giving it a facelift.” Tom heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He glanced at Kelly. “Someone’s here.”

He stepped outside, with Kelly following. He held back a whistle at the sight of the black, high-end SUV now with mud on the tires. The driver killed the engine.

A man emerged from the driver’s side of the vehicle. “Ah, so you two have met. I’m William Chandler. You must be Tom Pereira. We’ve chatted several times over the past few months. And you must be Kelly Frost, just arrived from Haverhill.”

Kelly stepped around Tom, extending her hand. “Yes, I’m Kelly Frost. Tom was helping me unload my car.”

Chandler nodded. “I apologize for the rather bleak reception. My—the house has been closed up for decades. No one’s lived here since the current owner was a young man, at least seventy years ago.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to staying here.”

Chandler reached inside his jacket pocket. “Here’s a prepaid credit card for any miscellaneous items you may need during your stay.”

“Wow, thank you.” She studied. “This will come in handy.”

“Please, let either me or even Mr. Pereira know if there’s anything that needs work in the house.” At this, Tom snapped to attention. Indoor work now? He’d better get some kind of a raise for these extra jobs that popped up.

“The rain doesn’t help much with the atmosphere, but it’s a beautiful house inside. It just needs a little attention and TLC, like the quilt.” Kelly smiled at Chandler, who reminded Tom of a sly fox. Matter of fact, the guy was a lawyer or something for the owner. It figured. Tom ripped his focus away from Kelly’s smile. He didn’t picture her as the kind who’d go gaga over a suit. But hey, it happened.

“I hope you’ll find the situation here conducive to work,” said Chandler. “I tried explaining to my employer that it would probably be better to ship the quilt to your studio, but what can I say? The man’s eccentric and wouldn’t hear of it leaving the house. He has some idea of restoring the house to its glory days of his childhood.”

“I understand. After all, he’s the one who asked for bids.” Kelly rubbed her bare arms, then shivered. “I’m going to step inside if you don’t mind. My jacket’s in there.”

“Not at all,” said Chandler. “I need to speak to Mr. Pereira here privately for a moment.”

“All right.” Kelly shot Tom a questioning look before taking the steps and heading inside. Tom shrugged. He’d only met Chandler once. No, twice, during his six months at Gray House.

“Mr. Pereira, I want you to know how much Firstborn Holdings appreciates your work. My employer is giving you this.” He handed him an envelope. “Just a token of thanks. Another thing.” Chandler glanced at the door leading to the kitchen.

“Yes?”

“Watch Ms. Frost. Her company has a good reputation. We’ve seen samples of her work and she comes highly recommended from one of the best museums in New England. However, there were a few issues of character that gave our CEO pause.” Chandler took his own pause, just like a lawyer, for effect.

“Issues, huh?” Tom had enough of his own . . . but “character” issues?

“Enough said.” Chandler clapped him on the back. “Please, keep an eye on her. We’ll keep in touch.”

5

B
y nightfall, Kelly had settled into the front bedroom. A small table for two that sat in front of the pair of windows made an ideal station for her laptop. She’d never stayed in a room this nice, stale air and all. She managed to open one of the windows a crack, but air that entered was humid, so she thought better of that idea and closed the window.

After stumbling along and finding an art deco shower in the bathroom between the master bedroom and the study, Kelly felt half-human and completely warm again in her pajamas. The rain had given her shivers for most of the afternoon. She’d checked her phone and found a Thai place that delivered, not six blocks away.

Thankfully, Mr. Chandler had shown up with the prepaid card. She honestly hadn’t been sure about supper or anything until then. This allowed her to at least order some takeout for supper, after Tom had gone along his way.

Weird, that his demeanor had smoothed over until he was as impassive as a brick. He’d almost seemed . . . talkative . . . until Mr. Chandler’s arrival.

She sat down at the little table and looked out at the dark night. Lights twinkled on the waterfront, and a few stars crept out now that the clouds had blown away. The pad Thai was spicy and awakened her taste buds. She chased the noodles down with sips of diet soda. Note to self—find a place to walk or jog, or her rear end would expand with all the sitting she was going to do this summer.

Tonight was the perfect time to discover that there was no Internet access at all, save a few unsecured connections, and she didn’t feel right accessing those.

In the morning, after she started her preliminary work on the quilt, she’d see if her car would cooperate and head to the store to buy a wireless connection. She’d need it, both to order supplies and contact any of her colleagues who would be willing to answer her questions.

The pad Thai had filled her up, but she didn’t feel tired just yet. The house was eerie enough by day. By night? Kelly didn’t think she could make it down to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea, were she fortunate enough to find a teapot.

She padded on bare feet over to the metal box on the antique vanity and opened it. Before she pulled it out of the box, she donned a pair of white gloves. Then she allowed herself to carry it over to the window table. Imagine, Mary Gray’s journal had lain up there so long, forgotten, like many things had been in this old house.

Kelly sat down, then opened up to the page where she’d been reading.

But here on these pages, meant for no other mortal’s eyes, I can freely share.

There were a few lines of unintelligible writing, something about having a terrible headache and calling the doctor.

March 1850

We are hosting a ball. I can scarcely believe that my Hiram has allowed it. He has been in such an ill temper that he sounds almost like my father did. Men can be such foul-tempered beasts, no matter how often they go to their knees in prayer. I said as much once to Hiram, and he left a mark on my cheek. No one asked where it came from. I suppose I deserved it for speaking so. He struck me only once this week. I should be grateful and work at holding my tongue.

Kelly shuddered and closed the journal. Poor lady, starting her journal with high hopes. A marriage to a good, upstanding man. Yet Kelly understood far too well that not all men were as they appeared. A man could claim one thing and still have another layer of truth below the one he paraded before others.

No wonder Mr. Chandler gave her the creeps. He might as well have been Peyton Greaves, with all his luster and polish. Peyton, whose betrayal even now stung and whose kisses and lies had cost her a price she was even now paying. No sirree, Mr. Chandler. His polish didn’t fool her, not to the tips of his fancy leather shoes getting wet in the rain this afternoon.

Kelly stood and took Mary Gray’s diary back to the metal case. Great. Now she’d probably be awake half the night, and a full day awaited her tomorrow. It was too late to call Lottie. The comfort of her voice would have helped soothe away the jumbled nerves. It would be nice to be able to call her again. Lottie didn’t know about Peyton, and Kelly planned to keep it that way. She sat back down at the window and sipped the rest of her soda.

So Mary Gray’s husband had hit her, and Mary acted as if that were normal. He likely pretended it didn’t happen. But that was in the days long before abuse was talked about.

Peyton had never struck her. Jenks, though, had taught her that men could have that moodiness Mary described in her diary. One minute smiling, the next making her and the other children pay for someone else’s transgression.

No wonder she’d fallen hard for Peyton once he’d worn her guard down. Kelly sighed. Every day she prayed that the past would stay firmly in its place. People at her old church spouted the verse about all things being made new for those who are “in Christ.” It was easy enough to say things like that if you’d never had anything bad happen and if your worst disappointment was the restaurant being out of blue cheese dressing.

“Don’t waste time counting sheep when you can’t sleep; talk to the Shepherd,” Lottie used to tell the children whenever anyone had a hard time sleeping.

It used to work for her during those six years under Lottie and Chuck’s watchful care. She’d whisper away to the unseen Heavenly Father, just as Lottie suggested, and somehow to her teenage soul, the practice was like a balm. Back then, she clung to whatever anchor she could find, and this one worked.

She found her cell phone charger and plugged it into the nearest empty outlet. Surely Mr. Chandler would have mentioned if there was an issue with the electricity, but then again maybe not. She plugged her phone into the charger. One missed call. Lottie. And one new voice mail.

“
Three thirty-five p.m
. Hi, Kelly. It’s Lottie. Just wanted to make sure you arrived okay and all’s going well. Call me when you get a chance.”

Her heart swelled at the sound of Lottie’s voice. She set the phone down. As she did so, a floorboard creaked in the hallway, then another. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, then stopped, listening at the door. She yanked it open, only to see an empty hallway filled with moonlight. Silly. There was no one in the house with her except antiques and memories.

Five hundred dollars. It was an odd six-month bonus for a mere outdoor maintenance guy. The weight of the five bills was like a brick in Tom’s back pocket as he drove through town the next morning. Sure, who couldn’t use an extra five hundred? But it wasn’t nice to feel as if the money were a bunch of carrots dangling from a stick, coaxing him along somewhere he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Just in case, though, he’d hang on to the money. He pulled his motorcycle into the parking lot of Patillo’s Marina. Mac had called last night, giving him the number of a guy who might have a possible job for him.The guy by the name of Dave Winthrop would meet him at the marina the following morning, aboard the
Peggy Sue
. Evidently he lived on a houseboat and had just bought a townhouse but needed some changes made to the place before his wife would move in.

Hand-to-mouth living, job to job. Tom shrugged off the sensation of scrounging. People should be coming to him, not him going to them, carrying his proverbial hat as if he wanted a handout.

“You can go to college,” someone had said. “It’ll all be paid for, and then some.”

He wasn’t college material. High school had been hard enough. Tests made him freeze. Numbers ran together and rearranged themselves on the page. Dyslexia had been easy enough to diagnose, but that didn’t make his life easier.

There it was, the
Peggy Sue
, bobbing in place, her sails tied down. A man waited at the edge of the pier.

“Tom Pereira?” the guy called out.

“That’s me.” Tom ambled along the pier, and shook hands with the man. “My buddy John MacGraw said you needed help with your new townhouse.”

“Dave Winthrop. Nice to meet you, and I do need a hand.”

“What’s wrong with the place?”

“The carpeting’s old, and my wife wants hardwood throughout the living areas and tile in the kitchen. Do you have any floor laying or tiling experience?”

“I’ve worked on my brother’s house. We renovated the entire first floor. Also, I’ve helped John on a few jobs.” His brother’s floor didn’t turn out half-bad, either. He had a good eye for straight lines and occasionally needed to recheck his measurements, but the floor gleamed, as did the travertine in the kitchen.

“Well, I know you have to work today, but can you meet me at the townhouse at five? That way you can take some measurements and hear it straight from my wife’s mouth what she wants so you can give us an estimate.” Dave squinted out across the water toward the city. “Pereira . . . what nationality is that last name?”

“Portuguese. You’ll find a lot of us around here.” Tom shrugged. “I’m a mix, though. Italian’s in there somewhere along the family tree, too. Grew up here in New Bedford.”

“I know the question was a little odd. I’m a genealogy buff. It’s sort of a hobby of mine, so I can’t help but ask. I traced my father’s family back to fourteenth-century England. It took a while, but I now have a framed family tree.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.” Tom hoped that wasn’t a lie. He figured their meeting later today would involve a display of the family tree. Not that that kind of thing didn’t interest him, it was just strange to find out something like that when first meeting someone.

“Well, I’ll see you at five.” Dave handed him a card. “Here’s the address.”

“All right, then, thanks.”

He left with a lighter step than he’d had in a while. Maybe this was part of his new start. He could do flooring, and he could do tile. If this project worked out for him, it could be a whole new venture in his life.

By the time Tom got to Gray House, the morning clouds had lifted and he had a ton of work ahead of him. Chandler’s request from yesterday niggled at him once again.
Character issues
, he’d said. Tom realized he didn’t know much about Kelly Frost. He also realized he’d developed a soft spot for the old whaling captain’s house. Although whatever character issues Kelly had, Tom wasn’t sure how they could affect her job at Gray House.

Kelly’s vehicle was still half on the parking slab, half on the grass. Great, one more thing he’d forgotten. First thing, he’d get her vehicle running, or at least see what the problem was. He killed the motorcycle engine after he’d parked close to the greenhouse. Chandler had asked that he work on some fresh summer plantings to get the gardens back to what they were in their glory days. They could probably wait a few hours longer. They’d waited decades already.

Tom climbed off the bike, then took off his helmet and placed it on the seat. The sooner he got her car running, the sooner he could get back to his own work. He walked up to the kitchen door and pounded. Who knows where she was in the massive old house? He noticed a small button set into the wooden door frame. He pushed, just in case the ancient doorbell worked.

The door flew open. “Good morning.” Kelly wore a shirt that had seen better days, with stains and was at least two sizes too large and hid her curves. Her pink toenails peeked out from under the hem of her worn jeans.

“Do you mind if I have your car keys back, so I can pop the hood?”

“Oh, that’s right . . . my car. I was getting started on the quilt this morning and the car slipped my mind.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll grab the keys.” She turned and trotted from the kitchen.

Within seconds she reemerged. “Here.” She handed him the keys and followed him to her car. “Do you know much about cars?”

“Ah, I’ve tinkered here and there. I can at least tell you what the problem isn’t.”

“Well, once you figure out what it is, I need to get a few groceries from the store and essentials, like a coffeepot.” She rubbed her forehead. “I think I’m having caffeine withdrawal this morning.”

“Ouch.” He tried not to chuckle, but he knew what that was like. Once he’d unlocked the car and popped the hood, he tried the first logical thing, the ignition. He noticed the dome light didn’t come on when he opened the door.

No life from the battery. “I think it’s your battery,” he said.

She bit her lip. “Think?”

“I can take it out and run it to an auto supply store so they can test it for you. If it’s a dud, I can pick up a new one.” An easy fix.

“It figures, once I get here, money starts draining away.” Kelly shook her head. “Sorry. I appreciate your help. Do you think fifty bucks ought to do it for a battery? Or should I send more?”

“Fifty is fine to start with. If it ends up being more, I’ll take care of it and you can pay me back.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m just trying to keep some kind of a budget here . . . Hang on while I grab some cash.” Off she sped again, into the house.

Yes, he definitely knew about keeping a budget. He had a feeling, too, she’d pay him every last cent she owed him, that she kept a strict accounting on what she owed anyone. Pride did that to someone, especially someone wanting to make sure they carved their own way in the world.